Meng Ping, sitting in the pavilion of the inner courtyard, was suddenly overcome by a sense of foreboding, a chilling sensation running down his spine.
Even ordinary Martial Artists would sometimes feel a premonition when danger approached—so how could he, a cultivator, not sense it?
Yet the warning came too late; just as the thought entered his mind, he heard the rush of countless objects slicing through the air all around him.
Countless crossbow arrows ripped through the lush garden foliage, the rustling sound heralding the arrival of deadly peril.
"Boom!"
In Lu Chang'sheng's line of sight, the inner courtyard pavilion was drilled through by a volley of armor-piercing arrows, its solid wooden pillars snapping instantly.
A flash of white light burst forth.
Then, all was swallowed up in a rain of crossbow bolts.
Even the pavilion's foundation—set atop the lake—was blasted apart, arrows shooting wild, plunging into the water and erupting like live artillery shells.
